


Everybody Needs a Fence to Lean On

by explosionshark



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 20:05:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3782632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/explosionshark/pseuds/explosionshark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chloe lets loose a shaky laugh, rising to her feet with only a moment’s hesitation and shimmying out of her pants. “You sure this isn’t all an elaborate plot to get me naked, hipster?”</p><p>“Please,” Max grins, feeling bold and powerful in the dark. “As if I’d need to be elaborate.”</p><p>--</p><p>Chloe's a drunk insomniac. Max is tired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everybody Needs a Fence to Lean On

**Author's Note:**

> I write people falling asleep together a lot, which is weird. This time it's not my fault. Prompt was "chloe sneaking into the dorms because she wants to sleep with max because she is a needy baby like that (she would never admit it, obviously)"
> 
> Anyway, this is that. Mostly. Un-beta'd and barely re-read, so almost certainly riddled with terrible mistakes. Titled after the Headlights song.

Chloe is bad at being alone.

And it's a shame, really, since it happens so often - but them’s the breaks, kid. When life plops a big plate of shit down in front of you, what are you going to do? Gently tap the waiter on the wrist and inform them you ordered the caviar?

No, you dig in or you starve.

You clear your plate, hope the next meal’s easier to swallow.

So, she’s used to being alone but that doesn’t change the fact that she fucking _sucks_ at it.

Which is why it’s 1:45 in the morning and she’s lying awake, restless and about to do something kind of stupid.

She started drinking an hour ago, when Max finally sent her a kind but unsubtle goodnight text. It’s one of those nights where sleep refuses to come to her and it didn’t take long before the weight of her unoccupied mind became too much to bear unaided and she broke out the fifth of whiskey she kept stashed under the bed for exactly this reason.

The skin around her eyes feels tight. Her body kind of aches and her mind is fuzzy. She _wants_ to sleep; but she wants Rachel back and she wants David to fuck the hell off, and she wants to burn this fucking town to the ground and dance in the ashes.

Some things are beyond her control and she’s trying to get over that, but it’s not in her nature to just lie back and do _nothing._

Chloe Price is a woman of action.

Chloe Price is a drunk woman of action that just wants to fall asleep next to someone who gives a shit about her and it just so happens that there’s one of those just across town in an embarrassingly easy to sneak into dorm room at this very moment.

Chloe drags herself up from the bed, taking one last nip at the bottle for the road as she shuffles across the room to dig her old skateboard up from under a pile of dirty laundry. She considered, however briefly, taking the truck - it’s late, the roads are clear, she’s not _that_ drunk; but a glance at the battered wooden dresser her father had built for her all those years ago, the desperate graffiti scrawled across her old height chart (she really should paint over it, but…) and she dismisses the idea outright.

There are some lines she won’t cross. Not ever.

It’s a warm night so she decides against grabbing a sweater. She eases herself out the window in just a tanktop and a pair of almost clean jeans, worn out soles of her converse almost slipping on the shingles of the roof and _whoa_ maybe she should have risked the front door-

But she makes it to the ground without any further incident, walks to the corner with the board tucked under her arm to complete her silent, ninja-like escape.

The whiskey makes her a little wobbly when she mounts the board, she thinks she should have risked going down to the garage to find her longboard, but she finds her balance easily enough after she kicks off.

The scrape of wheels on pavement is impossibly loud in the quiet of the night. Chloe gives herself over to it, letting the familiar sensations enfold her until the pressure in her chest gives way to something a little lighter.

 

x.x.x.x

 

When her phone goes off the first time, Max ignores it, because she’s a normal person and it’s _the middle of the night._

But when it goes off again and her sleepy brain is able to register the fact that, yes, that’s unmistakably Chloe’s ringtone (“Sk8er Boi” by Avril Lavigne which was supposed to be a joke, but-) she picks it up reluctantly, dropping the phone against the side of her head with a groan.

“Chloe, what the hell…?”

“Hey, Max,” Chloe sounds way too cheerful for 2 AM. “Don’t freak out.”

And then she hangs up.

And then there’s knocking at the door and _oh my lord_ how is this real life?

Max buries her face in the pillow, letting the phone slide off the bed and down to the floor with a muffled thump and tries not to scream.

And then the knock comes again, followed by a low ‘heeeeey, buddy,’ from the hallway and Max is rolling off the bed and onto her feet. Her limbs feel heavy from sleep, her mind is foggy, she probably looks like shit and she hasn’t quite figured out how she’s going to restrain herself from strangling Chloe, but she definitely needs to make the noises stop before they both get busted, so she trudges to the door and lets her in.

It’s after 2 in the morning, _no one_ should be capable of smiling that hard.

The sincerity of Chloe’s grin makes her annoyance a slippery thing, so when she finally yanks Chloe into the room and allows herself to be swept up in a hug, the muffled “Oh my god, Chloe,” she mumbles into the other girl’s bare shoulder is more amused than anything else.

Max pulls out of the embrace after a moment, elbow brushing the rough griptape of the skateboard under Chloe’s arm, and feels her heart flutter a bit in her chest because, _yeah_ , maybe still a bit of a skate betty afterall.

“So, I was in the neighborhood,” Chloe begins clearly _way_ too fucking amused with herself, “and I thought I’d drop in and check on my old friend, Maxwell Cauliflower.”

And, yeah, that confirms what Max had suspected; Chloe’s been drinking.

It’s sad because it’s a weeknight and she’s only 19 and is this really the only way she knows how to cope with things?

“Y’know, if I didn’t know better, I might think that your intense, far-away frowny expression might mean you were somehow less than thrilled to see me,” Chloe chimes, swaying on the balls of her feet. A smile still hangs on her face, but it’s a more tentative thing now; something fragile hidden under all that bravado.

It makes Max’s heart hurt a little and she reaches out and curls a hand around Chloe’s arm just under the elbow.

“What the hell?” Max blurts, yanking her hand away with a panicked expression. There was something rough and sticky on Chloe’s  arm.

“Oh, this?” Chloe hums, lifting her arm up casually to reveal a flaky brown smear of blood down her forearm.

“Jesus,” Max whispers, reaching forward tentatively to inspect the wound. “What happened?”

“I scraped it climbing over the wall to the dorms,” Chloe shrugs. “It’s not a huge deal, I kind of forgot it happened.”

“God,” Max sighs. “Okay, come on, let’s get this cleaned up.”

“What?” In a rare display of agreeability, Chloe allows herself to be placidly led out of the room and down the hallway to the showers without much fuss. “Max, it’s not even a big deal.”

“Chloe,” Max sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. “Just… be _quiet_ , okay?”

She listens and Max kind of regrets it.

It doesn’t take too long to get Chloe cleaned up. The smear of blood down her arm made the wound look a lot worse than it actually was and Max is pleased to find the puny first aid kit issued to every dorm room was more than adequate for the job. By the time she carefully smooths the cheap beige band-aid into place under Chloe’s elbow, Max’s annoyance has melted into concern.

She’s gentle when she takes Chloe’s hand and tugs her back the the dorm, feeling guilty for snapping. She’s tired and a little overwhelmed and she wishes she knew a better way to say all of this to Chloe.

 _I’m not mad,_ she thinks. They’re sitting close together on the bed, thighs touching. She’s got Chloe’s hand in her lap and they’re still quiet and she hates that she can’t find a way to speak out loud. _I’m just scared because you’re always in pain and I have no idea how to help you._

“Why were you drinking?” Max says instead when the silence finally becomes too unbearable.

“I dunno,” Chloe lies. She tries to tug her hand away, but stops when Max squeezes. “I missed you.”

“I was with you a few hours ago,” she bumps her shoulder playfully into Chloe’s and pushes the nail of her thumb gently against Chloe’s palm.

“Yeah, I know,” Chloe mumbles, leaning into Max with a sigh. Max bears the weight gladly, still staring down at their hands. “Sometimes… sometimes I just can’t sleep. Like, my brain gets going and it’s too much and… it just…”

“I’m sorry,” Max whispers. “What can I do to help?”

“You’re doing it,” she expels a shaky breath. “On bad nights I used to just, y’know, go to Rachel, but-”

Max’s stomach does that stupid, jealous flip-flop and she hates herself a little for it.

“-but since she’s been…. gone, it’s,” Chloe breaks off, Max feel her shrug against her side. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Max whispers. After a beat of silence she turns, presses her lips to the warm, smooth skin of Chloe’s bicep. “Take your pants off.”

“What?” Chloe’s voice is a little high. Even in the dark, Max can see a tint of red against her pale cheeks.

It’s good. It’s _so_ good but she pretends not to notice, leaning back onto her elbows on the bed.

“I’ve got to be up in,” Max glances at the clock and throws her head back with a groan, “four hours. So you can stay and I’ll even stay up with you, but there’s no way I’m doing this sitting up.”

Chloe lets loose a shaky laugh, rising to her feet with only a moment’s hesitation and shimmying out of her pants. “You sure this isn’t all an elaborate plot to get me naked, hipster?”

“Please,” Max grins, feeling bold and powerful in the dark. “As if I’d need to be elaborate.”

Chloe slides on top of Max, pinning her to the bed as the weight of her hips settles over Max’s lap and then they’re kissing. It’s warm and open-mouthed and Max doesn’t even really mind the lingering taste of whiskey on Chloe’s tongue.

She settles her hands along the backs of Chloe’s thighs, digging her nails in just a little until Chloe shivers above her. It’s not the first time they’ve done this - kissing - but it’s the first time that it’s been like _this_ ; on her bed, in the dark, both of them barely dressed and breathless.

Chloe slides one hand out of Max’s hair, drags it down her neck to her chest, lays it palm flat against Max’s sternum.

She can feel what this is doing, Max knows. She can feel the thunderous crash of Max’s heart in her chest. She hopes it’s enough. She hopes it tells Chloe all the things she can’t get her mouth to say, yet.

When Chloe finally pulls away Max takes note of the bright red flush of her chest and neck and feels ridiculously proud. She’s probably a mess - her hair would have been a disaster even before Chloe got her hands in there. She can live with that, she decides. She kind of likes the idea, even. She likes the idea of wearing this feeling where Chloe can see it, too.

“Wow,” Chloe whispers, as she leans in and brushes another kiss against the underside of Max’s jaw, then another below her ear, on the side of her neck.

“Yeah,” Max pants, sliding her hands up until her fingertips bump the edge of Chloe’s underwear.

“This was the best idea,” Chloe laughs, grinding down onto Max thighs just slightly.

And, _god_ , that’s just-

“Yeah,” Max pants, eloquently.

“It totally worked, Max,” Chloe says, rolling off with a grin, wedging herself between Max’s body and the wall.

Max blinks dumbly for a moment, dumbfounded by the abrupt loss of the weight and warmth above her.

“It did…?” her fuzzy mind is still trying desperately to catch up with this turn of events. “Wait, what worked?”

“I knew if I came over here, you’d end up putting me to sleep,” Chloe says, dropping her head onto the pillow. “You have this… quality about you, that really encourages unconsciousness in others.”

“Fuck, you are _not_ doing this to me,” Max groans, rolling over. She presses her lips against the column of Chloe’s throat experimentally to no apparent effect. “Dammit, Chloe. You are  _such_ an asshole.”

“You’ve got to be up in four hours,” Chloe reminds her smugly.

“You’re still an asshole,” she mumbles, rolling off of her and back onto her side.

“Yeah,” Chloe breathes against her shoulder, scooting up against Max’s back and slinging a leg possessively over her waist. “But I’m _your_ asshole.”

 Max muffles a laugh into her pillow because, yeah.

Yeah, she can live with that.


End file.
